


Home

by corviiy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, damn davey back at it again with the teen rated oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6550168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corviiy/pseuds/corviiy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for jo, and everybody else who deserves some davekat after that ending.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> for jo, and everybody else who deserves some davekat after that ending.

You step out onto the patio of your apartment, clothes still cool from being freshly donned, shoes and socks clean and tight. You’ve got that asscrack of dawn feel from the clothes you’re wearing to the crisp, cold air you’re breathing. Can Town is only just visible, the sun having risen only far enough to give vague, cool lighting to this side of the planet. Your bones are still stiff from sleep, and you even find yourself yawning, only to be cut off by how fucking cold the air is. It dissipates into a trembling breath of air, you hiss, because isn’t paradise supposed to have a moderate climate?

Whatever.

It feels alright, nostalgic in a way actually. You trot down the steps of your cylindrical apartment, the tightness of your shoes and the cold of the air tugging on your toes. As soon as you hit the pseudo-pavement, your strides are long and quick. You want to get to the edge of Can Town before the sun starts shining over the horizon, because you want no shadows of evidence that you’ve gone the way you’re going.

East. Is your best guesstimation of the specific direction. According to the mayor, the ruins of the meteor were east. You trust him, of course, but you’re all still kids. You’re still learning how to make a map and build a blueprint of this whole new planet.

So you’re not going on a cartography mission. You did come prepared, a book and a pen ready to write down anything you came across on your personal expedition. Really, though, nobody is supposed to know where you’re going or when you’ll be back. You told Kanaya you’d be out today and she said she’d cover you with ridiculous and silly lies about where you’d really be and honestly, that’s probably for the best. Because you still have some reservations about being so emotionally open, because this was supposed to be a new beginning and you were never to look back at it, you’d rather her tell people you’re off grooming your pubic wig than people know where you really are.

You’re not a god anymore. You can’t fly, you can’t zip around this planet looking for the ruins. You have to do it old school, by walking. Why are you going to the ruins? It’s really simple, actually. You miss the meteor. Not the impending doom and uncertainty of survival. But you had memories there, it was important to you. It’s where you grew up, found a home, learned to be comfortable with yourself and the people around you. Most of all, it’s where you truly rose up. You’ve had the itch to visit for months and you almost don’t want to go out of fear that your memories had been demolished in the crash. You never claimed to not be a sentimental person.

You’ve walked yourself to the outskirts of Can Town, cold sweat sticking to your skin inside your sweater. You're another couple hundred feet away is the forest. Stopping, you pull off your backpack and root around for a water bottle. Just as you grab it, a voice barks at you from behind, causing you to jump and drop the bottle and your backpack.

“Where the hell are you going?” You turn around and see Karkat, arms folded over his chest, hip popped and tapping his foot like he just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar.

“I thought you were asleep.” No, you were _sure_ he was asleep. You made sure he tucked in before it started getting light outside, and even waited until you heard his breath get shallow with slumber before you left your joint can-shaped hive-partment.

“I was.” He tells you, giving a little sniff and tilting his head in a way that reminds you oddly of his dancestor. “You’re not really as stealthy as you think you are.”

“Obviously, since I didn’t even notice you following me. What the fuck, dude? You should be sleeping.” You’re not ready to admit what you’re doing yet.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Where are you going? You know you could get lost wandering in there without telling anybody. Then you’ll starve to death and die, because, in case you forgot, you can do that now.” His eyebrows are drawn and he wears a look of indignant triumph, like he just dropped the heaviest mic on your whole plan. He sort of did, at least, the doing it alone part.

“I think that’s a little dramatic. I know where I’m going, kind of.” You tell him.

“Great, lead the fuckin way then since you’re so sure.” You realize as he gets closer to you that he’s wearing a backpack too. It’s indicative of him knowing exactly where you’re going. Maybe he’s sparing you some of the embarrassment of admitting it.

He grabs your hand, fingers laced through yours and tugs you along towards the forest. Apparently, his idea of letting you lead the way was...him, leading the way. You’re not complaining. After a small stumble to catch your feet, your grip on his hand gets tighter, more secure, and you speed up to fall into step next to him.

Over the next hour, he doesn’t talk much to you, he's too tired. He seems to be making aimless decisions as the two of you weave through the forest, all of which have him heading as uphill as he can manage. It’s okay that you don’t talk much, a good part of your relationship with him despite the fact that you’re both insufferable chatterboxes is that you can enjoy his company in complete silence. Sometimes you make him stop for a second to “catch your breath”. Really, you just want to enjoy some parts of the forest you haven’t seen. Enjoy the smell of moist dirt and thick green foliage. You’ll never take the sights and smells for granted for as long as you live after growing up in the concrete jungle.

He pushes you hard, heckles you when you whine that this is too steep of an incline. You remind him this is supposed to be fun, but he has his mind set on something specific. You start to realize that he may have needed a trip like this too.

At some point, he scrambles up a shrub and tree heavy hill, disappearing into the green. You complain that it’s too steep, and he calls you a wiggler before his thick, calloused hands poke through the brush and he offers to pull you up. You get as far up as you can, then take his hands. You note the dirt on them, and the dirt in your fingernails from climbing. Chiding you for grabbing them wrong, he takes your forearms and hefts you up. Your legs kick against the root ridden mounds of dirt until you can pull yourself up onto the peak.

The top of this hill is much higher than you thought it was. It comes out over of most of the trees in the forest. In the distance, you can actually see Can Town. Karkat gives you a once over, freeing loose dirt and leaves off your clothing and hair while you’re transfixed at the horizon.

You don’t think you’ve ever been at a place in your life where you can appreciate the sun coming up like this. Karkat probably hasn’t either. The sun’s light bounces off of those words ‘Thanks For Playing’ In a way that refracts in every direction a different color. It’s like a sun rise and a rainbow at the same time, but also not because it’s something else entirely.

You feel his hand slide into yours again. Instead of tugging you along, though, he stands there with you, looking at the clouds and the sky and the world that is your real, actual home for the rest of your life.

“Is it weird to feel like this planet is small?” He asks, which honestly just about mirrored your own thoughts.

“No." You say. "I mean I don’t know about you, but. On earth there were other humans to reach out to. We have carapicians here, but, all the humans that I don’t already know are going to be a product of us. It’s weird to think that, after flying and planet hopping and rising out of the green sun itself, that this planet is as far as I’ll ever be able to go again.” You tell him.

“That makes sense. I mean not the flying part because I never got to fly and it was really such bullshit but. The planet hopping and shit, I remember going from land to land in our session, and I remember when the meteor approached the green sun. It’s unfuckingbelievable that we were on that thing for three years and it never felt as small as this does.” He explains.

“From the mouths of babes.” You say, giving his hand a little squeeze and then letting go.

“What?”

“Nothin. But hey, look.” You point off to a mound of clearly defined laboratory buildings in the distance. “We’re not too far. I say we chill here and get our grub on and then try to muscle it out the rest of the way.” He snorts at that. “What?”

“I fucking knew it. You ARE going to the meteor.” He shifts away from you, shrugging the backpack on his back off and digging through it.  
  
“Well no duh, was that not obvious.” You give him a little shove-nudge as he sprawls out a blanket and starts pulling out food. “Oh my god, you seriously packed your whole bag with food and all the basic dressings of a picnic.”

“Of course I did. What the hell did YOU bring?”

“Um? A journal to write shit down, some water bottles in case I got thirsty and a couple of snacks.” He scoffs at you.

“A couple of snacks? And you really expected that to feed you? The real human garbage disposal?” He has his nose in the air again, and you move to sit with him on the blanket.

“You’re kind of a snob, you know that?” You’re not wrong. He’s taken to planning picnic dates with you and Jade. It’s a weird little hobby where he perfectly coordinates all the foods and drinks to match the weather and time of day and blanket that you’re using. Unsurprisingly, he chose a traditional red checkered blanket and paired it off with red-flavored juice pouches and pb&j sandwiches with strawberry jam. You also get flamin’ hot cheetos. Thank god for alchemizers honestly.

“I prefer the term picnic connoisseur.” He says, gathering your designated foodstuffs and handing them over to you.

“A snob _would_ prefer,that wouldn’t they?” You tease, unwrapping your sandwich. “Speaking of, I have a request for the next picnic you plan.”

“Too bad, requests are closed because you and Jade always make ridiculous requests that are either unobtainable at the moment or just off season. Like I’m gonna be able to make a barbecue cheddar brisket sandwich somehow.” He rambles, sneering as he watches you peel back the bread of your sandwich and crumble hot cheetos over the jam.

“This one’s really easy, man. You can alchemize mayo and sour cream and oil, we already make our own bread, and Jade grows cucumbers and pumpkins and carrots and all that other good spice stuff in her garden.” You offer up.

“That sounds pretty fucking elaborate.” 

“Hear me out. Cucumber sandwiches. Delicate little fresh palate cleaners. And. Pumpkin soup.” You say it like it’s the most revolutionary idea since sliced bread. You think it just might be, and punctuate that implication with a big bite of your sandwich.

“I haven’t had that specific combination before, I don’t think I even would know how to make pumpkin soup.” He retorts.

“I can help, I’m pretty sure there was a recipe book we saved in one of our fetch modus decks before the meteor crashed. I’ll admit, cucumber sammies n pumkin soup are kind of opposite-season flavors but, I dunno man I have a craving.” You give little shrugs and reach for a juice pouch.

“Yeah well. I’ve stopped questioning your taste in food at this point. I’ll see what I can do.” He offers, silencing himself by biting his sandwich.

The rest of your picnic is nice. You just sit there and chat about whatever, really, and watch the sun and it’s gratitude rise gently into the sky until everything is blue and bright. By then, you’ve pulled off your sweater and have it balled up in his bag in the empty space that the sandwiches, chips, and drinks left. You make sure not to litter, picking up all of your garbage and stuffing it into the side pockets of your own bag.

He takes your hand again, this time without tugging or pulling as you two descend into the forest below towards the direction of the ruins.

Now that the two of you have woken up more, the conversation is a lot more exuberant. Time passes so much quicker, talking and joking with him as you walk towards your destination. You hardly notice when the greenery starts to thin out and the ground becomes fragile and crunchy underfoot.

The smell of the air is dusty, charred, it feels warm. After pushing through some more trees, it’s right fucking there. The meteor rises up in a dome over the earth, some buildings demolished against the ground, others knocked loose and looking like they’re hanging by a thread. Some buildings still stand tall on top of the meteor, perfect, if a little damaged. The whole structure is sprawled out like a being that’s dying about half a mile in front of you.

As you walk forward, you can feel his hand tighten around yours. The crash wiped out everything in this half mile, the ground black and grey with rubble. Nature persists, though. Little green sprouts push through, and both of you make sure not to step on them. Honestly, there’s a hurt pang in your chest. It’s kind of relieving in a way. In all this sunshine and happiness, there’s still something to hurt over. Walking further in, debris gets harder to step around. There are marks in the dirt from where large chunks of concrete skidded out upon crashing. Dust still rises from it in some areas even, as if the crash just happened.

Between you two is silence again. As you take in the scene, though, it’s clear that neither of you want to leave. You probably couldn’t leave if you _did_ want to, there are too many questions unanswered.

The first question gets answered right away, as the two of you hike up the cratered surface of the meteor. It takes a good amount of that weight off your chest, seeing that the buildings still intact are the buildings that you and your friends primarily occupied. The main entrance is blocked off, though, some top part of the building fell over the door. That leaves the two of you to figure out how to get in through one of the side buildings. God forbid, you’ll have to use the vents.

It doesn’t come to that, though. Karkat, bless his soul, finds a big space where the buildings broke apart, allowing the two of you to use the back entrance. Once inside, he lets go of your hand, immediately starts scrubbing at his eyes. You don’t blame him. The common room is demolished. Books are strewn everywhere, appliances and furniture jostled from their spots, flipped over, torn apart. You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

“Do you wanna split?” You ask, looking up at Karkat, because he seems to be getting kind of emotional. You are too, but it’s more of a rock in your chest instead of a burn in your sinuses.

“No. I want...” He trails off, walking over to the couch. The same couch you used to sit on and watch shitty movies. Covered in dirt, the wood frame busted a little on one side. You follow him over and help him, gripping the side he isn’t and flipping it upright. “It’s fucking wrecked.” He mutters. He’s right, there’s a huge rip in the upholstery, right over where you could imagine an ass indent from sitting with him.

“Yeah.” Is your oh-so articulate response. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to sit in it or leave the building entirely. You help him a little, taking his hand. “Let’s check out the library.”

Heading up to the next level is an interesting experience. The feeling of the floor on your feet was an odd one, you spent a lot of time floating wherever you needed to go. On the next level, things don’t looks so damaged. You’re pretty sure that’s not how physics work and by all logic it doesn’t really make sense, but you stop caring when you pass a little dead end hall and see the vague, pink outlines of old hop-scotch games.

It makes you laugh.

And then you keep laughing. So much that your cheeks hurt and Karkat is fussing over you and--oop, yeah, those were tears. You can’t even catch your breath, really, hard hiccups of air stuck in your chest as you let go of his hand and walk over to it.

“Holy shit, is this…” He trails off, because you’re still fucking laugh-crying, but you’re also trying to spit out words between all of it. Your heart feels like a kitten trapped in a blanket, squirming and pushing and biting around your ribcage.

“H-hey--haha K-karkat, look. Hehehyou can--hehe-you can still hop on my dick!” You tell him, pointing towards the dick template you made. He looks flabbergasted for a solid moment, but then, he starts laughing too. At this point your stomach hurts, but it makes you laugh more. Somehow, this silly little phallic doodle you made when you were fourteen is still making you crack the fuck up, and now Karkat is victim to it’s humor and sentimentality. He ever goes as far as to doing just that--hopping on your dick. He stomps on the testicles, then proceeds to switch to one foot, giggling as he makes his way up the proverbial jacob’s ladder. It would put you on your ass, but you have a primal teenage instinct to show him up.

“Nah, nah, you--hehe--you gotta add some flare my man.” You tell him, scooting him to the side. You decide to go backwards, hopping onto the balls with your feet crossed and spinning before bouncing backwards up the dick.

“Oh like that was so good, you hopped out of the line on that one, you’ve gotta do it like this.” He positions himself in the same position you started on, then hops backwards and executes it perfectly, until his foot slips out from under him on the last hop and he smacks into you as he falls backward.

“Ow, fuck, hop much?” You say after landing on your ass with a heap of Karkat in your lap. He really only responds by laughing, and makes no immediate move to get up. The two of you ends up winding down, giggles slowly dying out as you rest your face in the crook of his neck. “You hurt my ass, you know.” You say, a smile still in your voice.

“Oh boo hoo, you want me to kiss it better?” He turns his head and grins at you innocently.

“Mmmaaaybe. You could just kiss me better.” You suggest. He takes the hint, and plants a quick, chaste one on your lips. Then he’s moving, squirming to sit up. He turns around to face you and offers his hands, and the two of you pull each other up at the same time with your feet pressed together. As the two of you move to make your way out of the hallway, he gives your rump a little pat, tells you it’s fine as ever.

Like the rest of the second level, the library isn’t so destroyed as the downstairs common room. A couple of shelves have been knocked loose, but the tables are practically in the same places. There are bottles of stuff that didn’t survive but that’s really no loss on your part. Of course, books are everywhere, but there are still a lot that are tightly packed into the bookcases that line the walls.

This room hasn’t taken much damage, and honestly the damage it has taken doesn’t feel like that much of a loss. This wasn’t ever really home to you.

It’s different for Karkat, though. You watch him carefully as he steps through the mess. On ceremony, he starts to clean. This time, he doesn’t wipe his tears away from his face. Fat pink ones rolls down his cheeks and crash lands onto the books he hold in his hands. You didn’t really, really, that this place was so important to him. But, you can sympathize, and understand.

You decide to help him, finding places for the books to go and stopping occasionally to ask him if he wants to bring this book back with him. You know that by the time it’s as clean as you can get it without a broom, he’s got twenty or more books stuffed into his fetch modus. You make him promise to read them to you when you get back.

As you’re doing your final sweep, you notice a familiar looking book with no title, which leads you to believe it’s a journal of some kind. Upon picking it up, you immediately realize what it is.

“Karkat come check this out.” You say, waving him over. He stops kicking broken glass underneath the table for a second and comes up behind you, peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

“Holy shit. That’s the Diary of Starsky & Hitch.” You grin up at him. “Please tell me you’re keeping that. I don’t have anymore room in my modus."

“Of fucking COURSE I’m keeping it. I thought I got all of our shit I didn’t realized I missed this.” You do some quick simple math and then captchalogue it. “We can go over it later.”

“Really? You don’t want to reminisce in the garbage pit?” That catches your attention.

The garbage pit. The sin bin. The rubbish booth. Your little spot got a lot of names over the years you spent on the meteor.

“I don’t know.” You murmur.

“Really. You came all this fucking way and you don’t even wanna try and visit?” His tone is incredulous. He’s right, of course. Ultimately, piece de resistance of the visit was supposed to be the garbage pit. You thought you might try to stall, because you feel unworthy or unprepared.

He makes the decision for you. He takes your hand and starts tugging, just like he did at the beginning of the trip. He tugs you up stairs and through hallways. You remember floating through these halls but honestly, it’s better he’s leading the way. He probably had it down by muscle memory, as opposed to you, who took any kind of shortcut you could and even when you took the long way you were too wrapped up in talking to him. 

You wind up in front of a large vent. The covering is further down the hall, bent and busted from the impact. The top is kind of curved, like it would have caved in with just a little more pressure. Somehow, that doesn’t put you off from climbing right in and shuffling down the shoot. Karkat is right behind you as you make the right turns, and after a few minutes of crawling you wind up in the garbage pit.

Your favorite thing about the garbage pit was always that it’s many names were always ironic. Even now, the ceiling is dented in and stuff is loose and strewn about, but it looks like anything but garbage. You’re careful to walk around loose CDs, over the Christmas lights. You’re shocked that the sheets are still pinned up over the “window”.  
  
It’s not really a window though. The entire room is just a rectangular hole cut into the side of the building. Now that you can’t fly, it seems a lot more dangerous, as it’s located at nearly the top of the building. Quite the fucking drop. That doesn’t stop you from meandering over to the ledge and shifting around the debris until you can sit, legs dangling. Karkat joins you a moment later after drawing back the curtains that are made of your old suits top sheet.

Below you, you can see not only the demolished buildings, but the meteor, the forest, and even Can Town even farther in the distance. From here, though, you can honestly say that you were expecting...something else. You were expecting to not want to leave, or to feel some comforted kinship with the space. And sure, you’re fond of it. Fond enough to remember the atmospheric breeze when you used to sit here, or watching the green sun slowly fade to a speck and then to nothing over the years, or the weird, gravitational pull if you passed through a dreambubble. Now, though, it’s just...a husk.

“Is it all you thought it’d be cracked up to be?” Karkat asks, hand sliding over yours.

“Nah. I thought it’d feel like home, or something. I dunno. Really though it feels like sitting on a tomb.” You admit. You glance over at him, and he’s gazing at the scenery in a way that you assume is thoughtful.

“I get that. But I mean, we’ve got our whole lives to try and restore it. If Can Town expands into Can City, maybe this would end up being some kind of art installation memorial.” He suggests.

“That’s...not really a bad idea. We can’t really live here anymore. It’s too far from our friends and it’s probably dangerous. I guess it could be something like that, though.” You watch him as he lets go of your hand and stands up, glancing around the room.

“Let’s start here. Seems only logical that the garbage pit is the first thing to be cleaned, yeah?” With that statement, he starts picking things up.

You crawl back into the room and help him. You collect CDs while he collects books. For the moment you set those and snacks on the bed-like mat against the wall, just to get them out of the way. All the dust and debris is swept out after with your sweater, it cascades in ribbons over the edge and falls into the depths of the other buildings. It leaves streaks of dust on the garment, but you think that’s alright. You resolve to wash it later.

After it’s clean in the most basic hygienic way, the two of you work to string up the lights again, this time wrapping them around the bent pipes that line the room’s ceiling as opposed to just jamming them in cracks and hoping they’ll stay.

“I wonder if the generator still works.” You mumble, shuffling over and plugging the lights into a nearby outlet. They don’t turn on. “Psh, figures.”

“It probably works fine, just got jostled out of it’s spot. We’ll fix it on our next trip.” Karkat says, taking the piles of stuff off the bed and plopping them down in the middle.

God, he knows you so well. You remember the specific conversation, too. Once, when you were anxious, you sat up all night organizing and renaming all your music files, meticulously grouping and subgrouping them by genre, finished and unfinished. He’d asked what you were doing up so late, because by that point he knew that his bedtime was waaaay past your bedtime. You told him you weren’t sleeping well, and he proceeded to watch as you sorted your files.

Since then, it’s an activity you do together. Organize books, or clothes. Or in this case, garbage pit accessories. The two of you sit in silence as you alphabetize the CDs by the album names (not artists, because half of them are you and the other half are a mixture of Snoop, U2, and Pat Benatar), and he alphabetizes books by the dewey decimal system. The snacks are sorted by color. Eventually, the weight in your chest and the sweat on your neck is gone, and a sense of nostalgia takes its place. After the two of you put these things in their designated areas, it takes a hot minute to fix the sheets on the bed.

You glance up and around, finally taking in the sum of the last half hour. It...feels a little better, a little more alive. The view is better now, so that’s a bonus. You really feel like things are going to be okay. His body language reflects the same thought, arm wrapped around you as the two of you sit in your clean used-to-be safe space.

You only bring it up again once the two of you are on the outskirts of Can Town again, sometime around sunset.

“I’m okay with it.” You tell him.

“With what?” His voice is ragged, groggy. You realize now that he’s slept only an hour over the last twenty-four.

“The fact that our new home is my home. There was something about that trip that I needed. I thought that it was going to feel like home again, you know? I felt like going and seeing all that would make me miss the time spent there but it really didn’t. I like our home now, and our life. It’s nice, and I’m glad we went because I don’t think I would’ve fully been able to appreciate it if we didn’t.” You explain.

“We. So, you’re glad I went with?” He asks, his thumb smoothing over the base of yours.

“Yeah. In retrospect, I probably should’ve planned that trip around you. I don’t think I would’ve gotten as much out of it if you weren’t there.” You admit as the two of you cross city lines.

Now, there’s a population of residents, all moving and breathing and interacting. The two of you stop and talk to a few, because hey, nobody’s seen either of you all day, but you can see fatigue and hunger setting into Karkat’s features. Oh yes, he’s hangry alright. At least he’s trying to keep it together though, for the sake of the carapacians. He’s a good bean, boyfriend, and future leader.

As you approach your apartment, you catch sign of Roxy, who gives you a little wave from the bottom of your joint apartment cylinder. You don’t stop to chat for very long, because as previously stated, Karkat is hangry. She does help some, though, handing the two of you some tupper of leftovers on your way up the stairs. You give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, because she’s a mom and she eats that shit up. Out of anybody else, you’re glad you share the complex with her, honestly.

Once inside you can see where Karkat’s priorities lay. He immediately scurries off to the kitchen to start heating up the food. You, on the other hand, make your way into the respite block so you can make up the bed and set everything up, changing into your pajamas and making sure you’re actually dry under the hood before putting on cool, loose fitting clothes.

You take a moment, sitting on the cushioned platform to reflect on the day. You were absolutely right about what you said earlier. This is home. From the moment you got back to Can Town you’ve felt more relaxed and safe. When you got inside, it was that release that you imagine people feel when they get home after a long day at work. You run your fingers over the comforter, a fluffy down thing that you alchemized while you were first setting the apartment up. You breathe deeply and feel the central air blow through the vent, over the bed.

“You having a Kodak moment?” Karkat’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of whatever electronics. He’s got two bowls of what you're pretty sure is homemade ravioli. Nice.

“Definitely. I’m gettin' my Kate Winslet on, I’m the queen of the world.” You comment, scooting back on the bed and taking the plates as he hands them to you.

“Actually Jack was king of the world. Rose was just putting her arms out as he held her, and they were two different scenes ya dingus.” He remarks, using the fact that he had his hands free to strip down to his boxers. He even peels off his binder, letting the frilly little row of gills under his grub scars fan out and stretch in the fresh air. He’s quick to put on a loose fitting t-shirt before crawling into the bed next to you.

“Well does it really matter I mean he died anyway.” You comment, handing him his plate of ravioli after he decapchalogues his crabtop. He scoffs, elbowing you in you side.

“Don’t be so fucking unromantic. He WAS king of the world. For that moment, during those lights, he was. He got to fall in love and wear a suit and sass some classist assholes. He saved the lady but she still saved herself and him. It does matter.” He rambles. You set your plate down on the nightstand for a moment.

“So I guess we’re watching Titanic, then?” You tease, leaning forward and searching through his movie library.  
  
“You bet your fucking ass we are. If you had it your way, we’d be watching some garbage like Twitches.” He doesn’t waste time, shoving his fork into the pile of ravioli.

“Aw man I’m gonna have to make a citizens arrest. It’s explicitly illegal to bash my Halloween themed Disney flicks. Foul. I’m callin' it.” You pull up Titanic anyway, then lean back and take your food from the nightstand.

“I’d tell you to shove off but I’m actually really comfortable.” He retorts. “Seriously, if you leave, I will make every hissy pissy noise under the Alternian sun.”

“I believe that.” You snort.

Of course, when there’s no movie to bicker during you sit in calm silence, but when you’ve got a critically acclaimed romance in your midst, the two of you chatter all through it. At least you’ve seen the movie a thousand times and there's nothing to miss. Despite that, you still tear up a little when you see the mother holding the baby dead in the water. He doesn’t tease you about it. Instead, his fingers run through your hair and he strokes the tears off your cheek, even presses a little kiss against your temple.

Once it’s all over, he capchalogues his crabtop and the two of you sink gently down into the sheets.

Any time alone with him is intimate. You don’t quite feel any particular need to have sex with him, but you do love that he kisses you with such intensity. Like every kiss he gives you behind closed doors is going to be some kind of endgame smooch. Sometimes it’s so satisfying that you think you could live off of it, like it’s sustenance.

His hands are up your shirt, holding your rib cage together when he pulls you more on top of him. Your leg slots between his, your arms rest gently on either side of his head. His breath rolls over your face, perhaps a little heavier than normal. Unto his lips you deliver a kiss that is slow, and soft, and your fingers thread through his hair and catch on his horns. When you pull back, his maroon eyes look at you like you put the sun in the sky.

“I love you.” He murmurs.

The significance in that is not just that he said he loves you, it’s that he said he LOVES you. He doesn’t feel pity for you, he doesn’t want to put you in a quadrant. The significance of it is not just that you’re loved, but that he feels safe loving you. You remember when he first got upset over his vacillation. He’s come a long way.

“I’m proud of you.” You tell him, kissing him again, but shorter, and definitely more chaste. “And I love you too.”

You sink down next to him, head tucked against his shoulder. You have to hang on, wait for his breathing to become sleep laced. As soon as it does, you’re out like a light.


End file.
